


Springing the Trap

by gritsinmisery



Series: Farringham [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Discipline, Disguise, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritsinmisery/pseuds/gritsinmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Harold Saxon!Master tries John Smith's patience, and gets a bit more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springing the Trap

**Author's Note:**

> I work best with a bit of inspiration; this one used **snowgrouse**'s [Discipline](http://community.livejournal.com/slutboiathon/2929.html) and **45eugenia**'s [Please, Sir](http://community.livejournal.com/slutboiathon/3736.html).  This is definitely dedicated to **snowgrouse**, who was willing to beta in pieces and wade through my convolutions to fish out the real story.

Springing the Trap

Late one evening after dinner, John rounded the door into the infirmary, book in hand, and immediately launched into speech.  “Joan, here’s that…  Oh, I’m sorry, Matron, I didn’t know you had a boy in here.”  He skidded to a halt.

Harry was sitting up on the examination table, shirt unbuttoned and hanging out of his trousers.  Matron had a stethoscope against his chest.  She spoke without shifting her attention.  “Saxon tells me he’s having trouble breathing, Mr. Smith.  I was just trying to listen to his lungs.”

“Feels like someone’s sitting on my chest.  It’s especially bad right after we come back inside from manoeuvres.”  Harry took another deep breath when Matron gestured with her free hand.

She moved the stethoscope to his back underneath his shirt and repeated the process.  Finally, she stood up and took it out of her ears.  “Yes, I do hear a little wheezing, and your heartbeat seems very rapid.  I can write an order relieving you from outdoor activities –“

“Oh no, Matron; I’d never hear the end of it.  I guess I’ll just learn to live with it.”  Harry shook his head, looked intently at Matron, and then over to John, as if studying them.  “I’ll go now; I’m sure Mr. Smith has a far more interesting way to take up your time than I do.”  The smile that Harry flashed at John left no doubt that Harry meant something other than talking about a new book.  Joan’s quiet gasp showed that she understood Harry’s intent as well.

John’s eyesight went red and he strode quickly over to Harry. Without thinking, he reached out and cuffed the boy on the cheek.  “Right, that’s it!  On your feet, Saxon.  I’ve had quite enough of the way you speak to Matron.  We’re going to deal with this problem right now.”  He grabbed the back of Harry’s shirt collar, not even letting the boy button up, yanked him off the table, and shoved Harry along in front of him out of the infirmary and down the corridor to his quarters.

John pushed Harry into his quarters and over to the desk, shoving him so hard that Harry had to catch himself to keep from stumbling into it.  “Drop them.  Now.  Eyes front.  And not a word, Saxon,” John said between clenched teeth as he returned to his door and nearly slammed it shut.  Working the buttons on his trousers, Harry gave him a glare while his back was turned.

Moving to his desk, John grabbed his cane and stood beside Harry.  He stood there, fuming at the boy.  “Matron’s been nothing but kind and polite to you; she should not have to hear such filth from some little whelp.  You have no reason on earth to treat her that way.”  John paused, narrowing his eyes.  “Or is it just another way to get at me?”  
   
Harry turned to look at John, and it was a look that John had never seen before.  It was the look a teacher gives a pupil who has caught the whole of the lesson before it has been completely explained, but the smile on his face could best be described as malicious. As Harry faced front again, he said, “Full marks, sir.”

John swung hard, with no warning.  When the crack of cane against flesh and Harry’s answering gasp had died away, John announced, “So be it.  You have my attention.  I don’t think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Oh, but I am, sir.”   Harry shifted his stance to spread his legs wider and set his feet a little more firmly.  
   
John ran his eyes down Harry’s body.  Just like last time, Harry had his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open.  Just like last time, the blow from the cane left a long red welt following the contours of Harry’s round white buttocks.  And just like last time, Harry’s cock stood out in front of him, long and hard.

John knew this whole exercise should stop right there.  Society taught that no rational person would enjoy being on either end of the cane, much less find it sexually fulfilling.  Going by Harry’s response and the tightness of his own trousers, John decided there were no rational persons in the room. 

He found he had no desire to be rational.  It was too much work to put that in place of all the things he was already feeling: frustrated, angry, disgusted, aroused.  He loved the way Harry looked, the gasp Harry made when the cane hit his flesh and the moan that followed as the heat spread, the way Harry’s cock bounced as the shock died away and he began to anticipate the next blow.  John desired nothing so much as to plan the best spot for the next welt, to release his frustrations into that strike, and to receive those wonderful sights and sounds from Harry in return.  ‘Rational’ be damned.

The cane whistled through the air as John gave in to his desire.  Harry would have smiled in triumph, had John given him enough time between blows.

He was careful to keep count this time; the six he delivered would still have Harry working to find a comfortable position in the hard wooden classroom desks for the next few days, but John didn’t want to feel as out-of-control as he had done the last time he caned Harry.  He stood there trying to slow his breathing; trying not to reach out and run his fingers over his handiwork; trying not to give into the impulse to lay on just one more strike right _there_ where the welt would spread the redness and burning just a bit further down the thighs.  
   
When no further blows fell, Harry turned his head to look at John.  “Six?  Is that all, sir?” he mocked.  His eyes held John’s.  
   
John refused to take the bait, either to explain his action or to give another stroke.  But the smile slowly spreading across Harry’s face told him the boy could guess at his inner struggles, and John lost the staring contest.  Closing his eyes with a sigh, he turned and slid down to sit on the edge of his desk, letting the cane slide through his fingers until the end rested on the floor between his feet.  “Get out,” he said flatly.  
   
He had planned to sit -- eyes closed, unmoving -- until he'd hear his door open and close so he’d know the boy was gone. He heard the slide of fabric against fabric and assumed Harry was dressing.

But then Harry spoke as he stepped directly in front of John.  “Poor Mr. Smith,” he said quietly.  “Not the way you’d expected to spend the evening, is it?  A nice conversation about books with Matron in the infirmary – open door, of course, can’t have any whiff of impropriety – and maybe a cup of tea.  Instead, you get this…”  The cane was only resting between John’s long fingers; Harry slipped it away with no resistance and laid it on the desk.  “… And this.”  Then Harry took the same long fingers in his own hand and wrapped them around his cock.

John’s eyes flew open and he drew a quick breath. Harry studied the surprise on John’s face for a moment, then his gaze centered on John’s parted lips.  Harry’s look turned predatory and he leaned in to press his mouth against John’s.

John sat there accepting the pressure, until he remembered that this shouldn’t be happening and tried to pull away.  Harry just slipped his free hand behind John’s head, running his fingers through John’s hair to his scalp, and held him still while his tongue explored John’s mouth.  John’s next strategy of not responding to the kiss lasted all of five seconds.  He found his eyes closing and his tongue meeting Harry’s.

In a last effort to break the kiss, John put his free hand up to push Harry away.  Instead of a shirt, John encountered bare chest with nothing but a tie for decoration.  Harry’s skin felt wonderfully cool and the tie silky, and he couldn’t resist running his fingertips across Harry’s chest to feel both.  Before he realized what he was doing, he’d gripped the tie to pull the boy in closer.

Harry started guiding John’s hand up and down his shaft.  When John tried to open his hand and pull it away, Harry tightened his grip.  John gave up resisting that, too; he loved the feel of the soft skin moving slightly over the hardness underneath, and the way Harry’s cock jumped when he led John’s palm over the head.

Harry’s cock, his tongue… it was all too much, such wonderful sensations.  John moaned a little into the kiss.  He felt Harry’s lips curl into smile then move down his jaw – bite, lick, suck – while his head was tugged back with the hand Harry had buried in his hair, exposing his throat for better access.  
   
“No, not what you expected,” Harry murmured against John’s jaw between bites, “but what you want, I think.  Ah!” he sighed as their linked hands hit a sensitive spot.  He rewarded John with a long lick from the base of his neck to the hollow underneath his ear, and fastened his teeth on the tendon behind it.  He felt John’s whole body quiver in response.

Harry slid his hand from John’s hair down the back of his neck, only to encounter a shirt collar.  “Too many clothes,” he said against John’s neck.

Lifting both hands to John’s tie to loosen it, Harry was pleased to find that John kept moving his hand on Harry’s cock, even finding new patterns now that he was no longer guided by Harry; fingers circling the shaft just behind the head, thumb slipping into the slit to spread pre-come.  Harry shuddered just as John had earlier, and hurried to unbutton John’s shirt.

John opened his eyes and looked down at Harry, finally seeing more than the boy’s eyes for the first time since he’d sat down on his desk and let the cane slip.  Harry’s head was bent, gaze on his current task: the rapid unfastening of John’s trousers.  The sound John had earlier taken for Harry dressing had in fact been just the opposite; the boy wore nothing but the tie John had grabbed to pull him deeper into their kiss.  When he realised he was still stroking Harry’s cock, his hand stilled, and he pulled it away.

Harry looked up at John’s face and saw surprise, confusion, and self-disgust, all warring with desire.  Eyes locked with John’s, he raised John’s messy hand to his mouth, licking the pre-come off the palm and taking each finger deep into his mouth to suck it clean, watching the desire in John’s eyes burn away everything else.  Leaning in, he captured John’s mouth again, sharing the taste with him.  Still kissing him, he tugged John to his feet by pulling on his now-open shirt, slipped it off his shoulders and down his arms.

Harry set John’s hands on his shoulders, then pushed his trousers and pants down his hips.  “Step out,” he said, breaking the kiss for a moment.  When John obliged, Harry kicked the clothing away and stepped in until their bodies were pressed together.  “Much better,” he commented, sliding his hands around John’s waist and looking up into his face.  He could feel John’s erection pressed hard against his stomach; he slipped his between John’s legs, rubbing his thighs.

Harry had shown too much knowledge and skill; this was no confused boy with a crush on his teacher.  Harry was smiling smugly at the responses he was wringing from John, but John didn’t care any more.  He wasn’t going to run from this; instead he would take charge of it, or at least give as good as he got.  And there were two or three things that were on his immediate agenda.  
   
He started by sliding one hand behind Harry’s head, keeping him still so he could do a little plundering of his own.  He explored every inch of Harry’s mouth with his tongue, pushing Harry’s aside when it tried to intercept, then tangling with it when he felt the need.  He thrust it hard in and out of Harry’s mouth, to remind the boy of what he was asking for.

He slid his other hand down Harry’s shoulder and back to finally, _finally_ do the one thing he’d itched for since he’d first taken a cane to Harry: feel the results. He ran the pads of his fingers over the welts, the ridges, cupped a cheek in his hand, the heat radiating into his palm. John raked his nails over the welts, Harry clenching his arse, hissing into John's mouth, his cock bobbing between John’s legs.

John broke the kiss and grabbed Harry’s shoulders to push him back a step.  Smiling, John enjoyed the slight look of confusion on Harry’s face.   “Yes, this is what I want, and I think it’s what you want too.”  He spun Harry around by his shoulders, and gave him a little shove toward the alcove behind the couch.  “The bed, boy.  I don’t fancy having you over the desk.”  He smiled again, enjoying the sight of his handiwork as Harry walked away from him.  “At least, not this time.”

Harry stopped beside the bed, but did not turn back to face John.  “A little late to play coy,” John remarked, joining him.  “Turn about.”

“Just waiting to hear how you wanted me, _sir_,” answered Harry, facing him.   There was nothing obedient in his tone or the smirk on his face as he looked up at John.

John grabbed Harry’s tie and wound it around his hand up to the knot, causing Harry to stumble closer and lose his smirk.  “I would think that mouth of yours had caused you enough trouble for one evening.  It’s time you put it to more constructive use.” John sat down on his bed, pulling Harry down to his knees by the tie.  He set his free hand on Harry’s head, forcing it down to meet his cock.  
   
Harry took it in his mouth willingly, needing to re-establish his control of the situation.  He wrapped his lips around the shaft and swallowed, pulling the head up against the back of his throat.  He slid his tongue along the underside and _sucked_. 

John pulled out partway and slid back in, fucking Harry’s mouth.  With every thrust John pushed his hand against Harry’s head, and Harry swallowed him down. With every backstroke, John tugged Harry away by a handful of hair, and Harry maintained suction, making John work to pull out, hanging onto John’s cock with lips and tongue.  All the while, he looked up at John’s face.

John’s eyes had closed the minute he’d felt Harry’s tongue.  He sat there with his head tilted back, mouth slightly open, concentrating on the warm, wet feel of Harry’s mouth and the movements that brought him more of that delicious pleasure.

Harry slid a hand down John’s thigh, down and under to trace circles on John’s balls.  Feeling them tighten, he slid his fingers even further back, curving them slightly, searching for John’s arsehole.  When he heard John moan and felt him pause his stroke in response, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle around John’s cock.

The sound caused John to open his eyes and pull himself away from Harry’s mouth.  John looked down, enjoying the sight.   He still had one hand fisted in the boy’s hair and the tie loosely wrapped around his other hand.  Harry’s lips were wet and berry-red from sucking.  And it was delightful just to see the little troublemaker down on his knees, looking up at him, even if he did have a rather wicked grin on his face.

“Did you think I’d be that easy a conquest, boy?” John asked.  He was quite determined to make Harry come first, to remain in charge of this little game.  Having lost the first skirmish by giving into his desire for the boy, he knew he could not let Harry dictate the final outcome.

Re-establishing his grip on Harry’s tie, John stood up and pulled Harry to his feet.   Another tug and Harry was on his hands and knees on the bed.  Again John ran his nails down the welts and ridges so prominently displayed, grinning as Harry sucked in a breath between his clenched teeth.  “I’ve decorated that arse so prettily; it would be a shame just to hide it away without getting some use out of it.”  With a quick slap to one cheek, John dropped the tie and walked across the room.  
   
Harry peered over his shoulder to see John at a dresser, picking up a jar.  When he noticed Harry watching him, John unscrewed the lid and tipped the jar forward as he walked back to the bed.  “Pomade.  This should make things go a little more smoothly.”

He dipped a couple of fingers’ worth, set the jar down, and spread Harry a little with his other hand.  Running one slicked finger around Harry's entrance--just as red as his mouth--John felt Harry lean back slightly, encouraging him.  Instead of penetrating Harry, John ran his fingers down to stroke his balls.  
   
Harry shuddered and made a high keening noise.  “Please… _sir_…”

Smiling, John returned his attentions to Harry’s arsehole, circling it and then working in one slick finger, slowly, in and out, a little deeper each time, twisting just a little.  When he felt Harry loosen around him, John added a second finger.  Soon, Harry was rocking back and forth in time with the movement of John’s hand.  Resisting the urge to curl his fingers just to watch Harry come, John pulled away.

Harry moaned and turned to look at John, eyes dark with need.  “More,” he demanded, voice low and husky.  

John just chuckled at him and reached again for the pomade.  “Patience.  All good things –“

Harry quickly sat back on his heels and grabbed the jar before John could.  “I’ll do that,” he interrupted.  John stepped forward and grinned, daring him to do his best.

After thirty seconds, John had to admit to himself that the Harry was just as talented with his fingers as he was with his mouth.  John was thoroughly slicked from tip to base, and Harry was doing amazing things with swirling fingertips alternating with pressure, and a wonderful trick with his nails grazing just behind the head… and how did he know about that spot right _there_?

Almost too late, John remembered there was a challenge going on and that it would never do to spill himself into Harry’s hands.  He forced his eyes open and stepped back.  Grabbing the boy’s shoulders, he pushed him down and around until Harry was on his hands and knees again, facing away from John.

Hands on Harry’s hips, John yanked Harry back and down until he was aligned just right.  He slid his hands across Harry’s reddened arse, spread him open with both thumbs, and started pushing his way in with slow rocking motions, a little deeper with every thrust.  Soon he was buried, Harry rocking back against him.  
   
Harry tightened down hard around John, making him work as much to pull out as to push in.  He groaned at being so filled and yet having nothing up against his own aching cock.  He reached for himself with one hand, but John pulled it away.  “I’m not so selfish,” John growled.  
   
He grabbed Harry’s shaft and started pumping it in time to his thrusts.  John wrapped his other arm around Harry’s hip and shifted him, searching for the angle where his cock would be hitting the right spot with every push and pull.  He knew he’d found it when he felt a shudder run through Harry and heard his surprised whimper.

Harry started gasping, head back, eyes closed, and John sped up his hips and his hand.  Harry matched his pace and then overtook it, his rhythm becoming frantic.  “Come on then, boy,” John muttered lowly against Harry’s neck, and set his teeth in the spot where neck met shoulder.

Dropping his head with a low moan, Harry worked himself on John’s cock and hand.  His orgasm soared through him, making him feel as though he was being ripped in two from John’s cock, turning himself inside out, shooting through John’s fingers.  It was too much to think about.  Harry could do nothing but gasp a breathy, “Ah,” with each spurt.

John had time for a satisfied smile against Harry’s neck before the contractions around his cock and the feel of Harry shuddering beneath him took him away as well.  He buried himself to his balls, loving the heat of the boy’s arse against his hips, Harry’s cock jerking in his hand; pushing again and again with a low moan as each spasm racked him.

They stayed like that for a while, supporting each other, catching their breath.  Eventually John fell over onto the bed on his back, and Harry collapsed on his side next to John.  Neither spoke.

Retrieving his clothes from where they were piled by John’s desk, Harry considered the situation while he dressed.  Obviously he had miscalculated, assuming the Doctor’s human persona would be far more horrified and broken than this to find himself succumbing to a boy, a student.  Was this a part of his personality changed by the chameleon circuit, or had John Smith been introduced by others to certain joys since coming to Farringham?  That last thought caused his eyes to narrow in displeasure.

Eyeing the cane still laying on the desk, he wondered just what it would take to get John to give up control, and how much further he would allow himself to be pushed past that point.  A broken John, begging…  The Master vowed that one day -- very soon -- he would witness that.

As he straightened his tie, he turned back to look at John still sprawled on the bed with one arm flung across his face.  “I think I’ll need some tutoring after dinner several nights a week, sir.  Won’t the other teachers find you quite magnanimous, taking the problem boy under your wing?”  His sarcasm was clear.

John turned to look up at him, smirking.  “I imagine they’ll think I’m a bloody saint.  I’ll send for you, if I find I have some time.  Close the door behind you, Saxon.”

“You’ll find the time, John,” the Master thought, smiling to himself as he left.  “Or I’ll find it for you.”


End file.
